


Boys of Summer

by smolhombre



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Co-workers, Doug has no social skills, Emotional Constipation, Long Suffering Employees, Long Winded Metaphors, M/M, Oblivious Partners, Rimming, Seth has no patience, Sexual Tension, Talking about you Francis, UST, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolhombre/pseuds/smolhombre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth is slow on the up-take. Doug can only help him so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys of Summer

The President did a lot of weird shit Seth only sometimes pretended to understand. It was all metaphor and symbolism - and frankly, all the shit he had neither time nor patience for. Doug fed into it, was half of that man’s problem, but he could lie in the bed he made. Seth certainly wasn't about to join him. He might have even protested, when he saw Doug turn the A/C units in this room off that morning, if he’d known he’d be dragged into this.

He’s normally spared these types of pissing contests, would rather pop a boil on the Uzbek Prime Minister’s ass - (unfortunately, he knew with 100% certainty where these boils were after an unfortunate incident in the men’s room not two weeks prior) - than continue to sit here with the opposition leadership in a staring contest, but Doug had pulled his leash, and Seth had stupidly come to heel. He probably deserved it for agreeing. He’s never claimed to be perfect.

“In Gaffney there were only two places in town that had air conditioning, did you know that? To this day I still reckon more places don't have it than do.” Seth does not doubt the President is aware of the sweat at his collar, though he makes no attempt to shift or conceal it. That’s probably meaningful to him, though Seth can’t fathom how. “My mama used to haggle with the butcher more when it got like this, and God, it was so hot and stunk of raw meat and innards - she’d haggle till old John got too miserable in his own damn shop he’d give her anything she asked for. Probably would have given it to her for free, just to be rid of her.” Here, the President pauses, looking nearly wistful. “But it didn’t matter that we were piss-poor, she was too proud to ever take anything for free.”

Seth refuses to be one the first to fidget. He tries to not look too desperate or miserable at the congressional leadership sitting across from him, though he feels every bit of it wishing they would start to adjust the sweat dampened collars of their shirts, the stick of their thighs to the leather seats underneath them.

“I’m sure you can all guess what I’m doing here today,” the President smiles blandly at his guests. “I think once the distractions are eliminated, we can come to an agreement on this silly little amendment sooner rather than later.”

“Mr. President,” Senator Mitchell begins, “with all due respect, there is no way my party can support cutting that much Navy funding - ”

“Henry,” finally, the Minority Leader shifts in his seat with the President’s full attention on him and Seth gladly takes the opportunity to shift himself. “Tell me why overfunding the Navy is more politically important to you than underprivileged children getting their free school lunches?” Terry sighs at the end of the table, and Seth gives him a mental fist bump. There was a man that got it.

Beside him, Doug barely brushes his knuckles against the outside of Seth’s thigh as he adjusts in his seat.

Seth nearly falls out of his altogether.

Doug shoots him a filthy look, all furrowed, mean brow and distaste.

Seth shoots his own back, watered down with confusion but hopefully spelling out in the most discreet, professional way possible: _the fuck, man?_

“ - shooting money straight up a cow’s ass - ”

Seth reminds himself he is here, suffering, in order to do a job. He picks his pen back up and starts to take notes; doesn’t move in his seat again for nearly three more hours, when Mitchell finally relents to corral the votes.

He resolutely does not acknowledge that Doug doesn't, either.

***

“Alright, and if you can get a hold of anyone in Shelley’s office to reschedule that lunch, please do.”

“I’m sure she will reschedule for the press secretary,” Molly grins, slipping her tablet back into her bag. Seth rolls his eyes good naturedly. _Highly unlikely._

“She’s more important than God, as far as she’s concerned. My pride won’t be too hurt if she doesn’t.”

“Seth,” Doug doesn’t bother knocking on his office door, just props up in the doorway and looks expectantly at Molly, who stands to straighten her sensible black skirt and collect her things.

Seth bites off a scream only by digging his nails into his knee underneath his desk.

“Good morning,” Molly nods to Doug in acknowledgement. “I’ll e-mail you after I get out of my meeting, Seth.” To her credit, she doesn’t cower in the least under Doug’s scowl; but that was sixty percent of why he hired her in the first place.

Doug shuts the door behind her, leaning back on it with his arms crossed. He’s looking expectantly at Seth, though Seth hasn’t the foggiest idea as to why.

“Can I help you?” He sighs, leaning back into his own desk chair. Doug drums his fingers on his arm.

“Your notes from this morning.”

Seth blinks owlishly. Doug visibly chews the inside of his cheek before speaking again.

“What did you do with them?”

“...Nothing.” He says slowly. “Did the dog eat yours?”

Doug is, predictably, not amused. “Nancy wasn’t there to take minutes, and the other girl sucks at her job.”

“She fits right in here, then.” Seth mumbles, reaching to pull out the notepad he had sandwiched between yesterday’s news roundup and the start of his notes for tomorrow’s briefing.

“Thanks,” Doug says after a pause, crossing Seth’s office to take the notepad from him woodenly. Seth frowns in earnest now.  
  
“Are you - is everything alright?”

Doug near slams the legal pad onto Seth’s desk, leaning forward on his clenched fists. Seth thinks, distantly, that his desk is probably about to be Hulk smashed. He is strangely unconcerned.

“Yes.”

Doug pushes off from the desk, leaving the notes on the stack of unanswered letters from the group of fifth graders that visited the day prior. He stalks out without looking back, closing the door firmly behind him. Seth doesn’t bother to get up and open the door again for another fifteen minutes, feeling suddenly, undeniably perturbed.

***

Two days later, Seth is four Monsters and a cup of well creamed coffee into three twenty-seven in the morning, hunched over his desk and feeling despondent. His desktop computer has no less than forty tabs spread over both screens, his laptop open on a stack of stuffed beyond closing capacity Manila folders. His iPad and phone are also propped up against stacks of papers, alight with messages and draft reports to send out to the press pool tomorrow.

Absolutely zero work is getting done.

“Listen if you know how to get a hold of some Ritalin right now I won’t squeal.”

Half sprawled on the uncomfortable little settee in front of Seth’s desk, abandoned and partially written speeches and scrawled notes surrounding him like a nest, Doug sends him a look Seth feels personally is more suited to runny dog poop on an expensive pair of loafers than an overworked press secretary.

“Why would you ask me that.”

Seth looks up fully from staring blankly at his laptop, blinking.

_Alcoholic. Right._

“Sorry, man.” He mumbles, taking a too big swill of coffee before becoming suddenly enamored with the Kremlin’s shitty, obviously censored translation of Petrov’s remarks on the Iranian nuclear facility he and the President were scheduled to visit a few hours from now.

He hears Doug move on the other side of the room and nearly jumps out of his skin when Doug comes to lean over his shoulder. Surely it's the excess caffeine in his system that imagines the feeling of stubble brush his person in any way - but the smell of coffee and cedar and paper is not in his imagination, barely changed from the last memory of it so close. Seth has to bite back a quip about finding the glasses nearby out of a small amount of genuine concern Doug might take him up on it.

“This is no better than the shit Tom comes up with.”

“You are more than welcome to do this yourself, my bed will take me in no matter what hour of the night I stroll home.”

“You don’t get paid to sleep,” Doug pushes back from the desk and Seth forcefully, knocking his tablet off of its perch. “Fix it.”

***

Molly gets a raise amounting to more than the cost of his first car eleven days after.

“Seth, I got the revised sched - ”

It’s the first time Seth has ever seen her caught off guard, though it takes him a moment to recognize it around Doug’s body blocking his view of the doorway.

“Mr. Stamper, please let him down - ”

Doug presses his forearm further into the soft give of Seth’s throat, pinning him to the wall directly behind his desk. He doesn’t so much as spare a half-glance to Molly. Seth flicks his eyes over to her briefly, starting to cross the room conceivably to separate them, before looking back to Doug.

“Molly, it’s fine.”

“ _Seth -_ ”

“Go. Shut my door, lock it. I’m in a meeting until you hear from me.”

Doug’s other hand is pressed to the wall, arm bracketing his face. Seth has both fists reflexively curled into the other man’s shirt, rucking it up and half out of his trousers, and he uses the grip to push him away now.

“You need sleep. You need to go home, you need to shower, you need to eat, and then you need to rest.”

“I bet that would be good for you.”

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake, Doug, I’m not Remy. I don’t want your goddamn job. _You_ don’t even want your goddamn job.”

Doug pulls back from him then as if burned - his face twisted into something that is not pain but something uglier, more honest. Seth is supposed to interpret something from it, feels the weight of implication and intent buzz heavy on his skin, but he’s lost in the openness of it and goddamn, he’s tired too. He’s not good with this shit. He works with words, not the spaces in between.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Fix it before I get back.”

Doug is out of the room as unceremoniously as he entered, and Seth settles down with the fuzzy pictures of the First Lady outside her mother’s home, smoking and looking skyward, and the tabloid article suspecting at a “specific marital arrangement” between the Underwoods. Frankly, he thinks Tom should be the one to deal with this, considering he’s the _actual fucking problem_ , but -

Molly slips it out from between his fingers and forces him to finally acknowledge her return to the office.

“I did not sign up for this shit.”

“No one did.”

Molly’s fist closes around the papers in her hand, mouth tight. Seth won’t hear her resignation.

“You have to stay. We’ll work out a raise - promotion, whatever you want. Pick your price, I’ll arrange it myself.”

***

There isn’t really such a thing as a “day off” in Seth’s line of work. Certainly not for the people he works for. But there are hours squirreled away, minutes to yourself before the next inevitable crisis, and tonight he’s prepared for a moment of selfishness with his ex-girlfriend’s former psychiatrist - which is probably “Doug levels” of fucked up, but he is only human and susceptible to becoming a shittier person by virtue of hanging out with manipulative assholes all day.

So he shaves and irons out his favorite blue shirt, which he would deny to the grave believing is lucky, and even cleans up on the off chance he gets laid. It’s not a bad day, altogether; he only gets 25 “high priority” emails after leaving the office that Molly forwards with an insistence he replies before the morning, and the little deli around the corner gave him extra pepperoncinis at lunch without charging him for it or even having to be reminded. So he was due, objectively, for some fuckery.

He answers the door in his sock feet and untucked undershirt, thinking it’s probably a lost pizza delivery boy for the family downstairs, which was a sadly common occurrence now that the kids were old enough to figure out online ordering but not the “special notes” section informing the pizzeria where, exactly, to deliver their wares.

“We need to talk.”

Doug is stepping around him and into his penthouse before Seth has even realized it was him on the other side of the door.  
  
“Uhm.” Seth clicks the door closed, immediately making a “MOST to LEAST FUCKED” list in his brain as to what has Doug in his home without any prior warning. Was that in one of those emails - ?

“Sit.”

“What’s happened?” Seth is already flinging the half ironed shirt on, looking around for his belt and shoes. He half hears Doug follow him through the house, the creak of his shoes on the hardwoods.

“Nothing’s happened, Seth.”

Seth turns on him, tie in hand and one shoe on. He’s lead Doug to his closet, and he appreciates Doug not looking around his bedroom to snoop.

“So what the hell are you doing here?”

“The last time I was here - ”

He stops himself, clearing his throat. Doug puts his hands on his slim hips, looking up at the ceiling briefly. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“You want to...apologize?” He guesses slowly, bemused as to what Doug could possibly be getting at.

“I would never do that.”

Seth throws his hands up. “I don’t think I ever had you laboring under the impression I was a mind reader, Doug. What do you want?”

He watches Doug stalk across the room, closing the space between them and doesn’t move, rooted to the spot. So it is at least fifty percent his fault when one of Doug’s hands braces at his hip, the other pressing flat to his chest.

His face must be accurately reflecting his befuddlement; something in Doug’s own face closes off seeing it.

“I felt it, you know.”

Seth grips at the wrist of the hand pressed to his chest, weary. “What are you talking about?”

Doug presses forward, is always pressing forward, speaking into his ear. “You liked me holding you down. I felt it. Felt you.”

“Listen if you want someone into that asphyxiation shit you can google it, man.”

He’s pressed against the wall proper now, Doug angling a knee to pry open his thighs. Seth feels - resigned, the same resignation being around Doug for any length of time inspires, but satisfied as something clicks into place (though that could just be the crack of his skull against the molding of the door frame). This has been a long time coming, he realizes.

_Oh._

Doug rolls his eyes, mumbling an “idiot,” under his breath as he moves to unbutton Seth’s pants.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Seth has never agreed with the man as much before.

Doug might not hear him - more likely ignores him - but Seth doesn’t need a response, stepping out of his trousers fully and letting the other man maneuver him to face the wall.

***

Doug’s hands are dry and warm on his thighs, brushing up and barely past his cock. Seth resolutely attempts to keep his hips from stuttering forward into the touch, but the little drag he gets as Doug settles to his knees behind him makes him buck forward seeking more friction.

Like everything else, Doug pulls his cheeks apart and presses the flat of his tongue to the cleft there with little ceremony and a lot of intent. The second swipe of his tongue has Seth’s knees feeling strangely fragile, the third has his legs like jello. He’s only ever done this twice before, but never - this is electric, the warning hum of a live wire before skin contact. The warm, slick dip of Doug’s tongue is intimate, and burning press and stretch of a finger an anchor in his body. He’s so laser focused on the alternating wet velvet and insistent slide into his entrance that when Doug’s hand grips at the base of his cock, giving him a firm stroke, he nearly falls flat on his ass.

It’s - _good_ , the tightness of release building low and sweet, and when Doug adds a third finger and brushes his prostate he can’t not howl. Doug is seemingly neither encouraged or discouraged, keeping up the steady work at his ass and twisting his wrist perfectly when it meets the head of his cock on his firm strokes.

Seth comes, damn near putting claw marks in the wall. Doug stands behind him, using Seth’s shirttail to wipe his hands and mouth off.

He’s too late to even attempt to make his date, and Doug is wordlessly out the door before Seth has even collected himself to turn and ask to return the favor.

***

The next day, Molly takes a two and a half hour lunch break when she realizes Seth replied to none of the emails from last night, and holes up in Nancy’s office the rest of the day when she gets back and sees the door close behind Doug’s stiff shoulders.

“Nancy, how much would you hate me if I quit?”

Nancy does not look up from her computer.

“You would never know peace.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Molly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mob_lake) for sailing this trash ship. :)
> 
> All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, you can find me on [tumblr](http://violetteacup.tumblr.com). Thank you for reading!!


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